


Waft

by yeaka



Series: Rutobuka's Wolf/Bunny AUs [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Anthropomorphic, Established Relationship, Furry, M/M, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo knows he shouldn’t stray outside of Hobbiton, where the dwarves prowl like wolves, but under the veil of night, the leader of their pack is sweet enough to make a bunny feel safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rutobuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rutobuka/gifts).



> A/N: Fanfic for rutobuka’s amazing art at [her tumblr](http://nastyrutobuka.tumblr.com/post/114448709445/this-is-kinda-naked-i-hope-its-ok-i-didnt-cut), which made me super want a furry-verse! ♥ 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Bilbo’s been told so many times not to wander beyond the safety of the Shire, and even more so the little wooden fences that snake around Hobbiton’s perimeter. The hills outside are long and tall, with deep caverns chiseled out of them, and wild dwarves that live inside. 

Hobbits aren’t meant for wolves. They’re small, timid creatures, evolved from bunnies, and in many ways, they’ve stuck to their roots. They like to burrow in small, comfortable holes, and they collect pretty things like doilies and laced curtains, eating mostly vegetables and pastries. They aren’t at all like dwarves, who come from wolves and stalk like hunters, forging dark tunnels and laughing over ale. They’re loud, scary creatures, and hobbits are quiet, innocent things, and Bilbo’s been told since he was very small never to have anything to do with them. 

But Bilbo isn’t quite so proper as other hobbits, and in the cover of darkness, he squirms his way below the fence. He has to crawl on his belly, knowing he’s getting a little too fat to make it through this spot—he’ll have to find a spade and dig out another. It gets a nasty grass stain on his waistcoat, but he pats it off and moves on anyway, knowing he’ll have to do laundry one way or another. 

He wanders towards the first flicker of firelight he sees, dancing red around the edges of an open cave that dips down into the earth. The wolves will wait for him, he thinks, will be near and ready, because he said he’d come tonight, and Bilbo is a good hobbit who never breaks his word. 

At the mouth of the cave, he slows to a shuffle. He isn’t afraid of dwarves, not exactly, but of course his instincts always make his long ears fall back against his head when he’s too far from home. He calls softly down the tunnel, hoping that the dwarves will know his voice and send out their leader. As much as he finds himself sinfully drawn to dwarves, wandering into a cave full of thirteen at once—which he’s had the misfortunate of doing on other nights—is a rather chilling experience. If he could meet them, perhaps, in a meadow, under the light of day, it might be easier to handle more than two at a time, but then Lobelia or someone else might spot Bilbo and drag him back to Hobbiton by his ears. Tonight, Bilbo wants to remain comfortable, because he’s hoping to open up, to do those things he’s been told he never, ever should, _especially_ not with a big scary wolf, but he still enjoys it _so much_ , and he’s determined to have his fun. 

The clamour inside grows quiet, and a chipper voice calls out, “Mr. Boggins, is that you?” One of the young ones, Bilbo thinks—the two brothers that the alpha takes care of like his own. 

It takes a minute for Bilbo to summon the courage to call back, “Yes, it is, and is Thorin at home by any chance?” Which, naturally, makes all the dwarves laugh, because they never speak nearly so properly as Bilbo does. He’s too timid to correct them on even the mispronunciation of his name, and so he stands where he is, fidgeting nervously on the spot, until a tall, dark figure emerges from the tunnel. 

Thorin Oakenshield comes to the very edge of the cave, back silhouetted by orange fire, and he looks down at Bilbo with a gentle smile on his lips. Hobbits always say that dwarves are frightening, but secretly, Bilbo thinks Thorin has his own softness—he has long, silky hair and a warm rim of scruff around his mouth and chin, and his big, fluffy tail often wags back and forth when Thorin and Bilbo are together. Thorin’s ears perk up as usual, and he dons a broad grin full of lust and affection. 

He asks, “What can I do for you, Bilbo?” and his deep voice makes Bilbo feel weak in the knees. 

Normally, he would follow Thorin down the hole, and then he would hide his blushing face in Thorin’s broad chest while they sat around the fire, Bilbo snuggled up in Thorin’s lap while the dwarves sound their awful songs. Other times, he would be taken to Thorin’s private nest, be laid down along the hard stone, draped over and _filled_ and _taken_ , and he’d be left to wander back to Hobbiton before dawn a stickiness and soreness between his thighs. 

But tonight, he wants _more_ , and he licks his lips to ask, “Could you... could you come with me?” He holds out his hand awkwardly, and Thorin glances down at it. 

Thorin’s thick fingers wrap around his. Thorin’s hand always feels so very _big_ in his, and it’s strangely reassuring. Bilbo’s skin is too soft and delicate to be taken against the hard floors of caves, but he should like to keep playing with Thorin, and so he turns and walks them quickly back to Hobbiton. 

Thorin follows without a word, and even though he’s wearing heavy boots and a bit of armour over his clothes, he’s nearly silent. When they get to the fence, tucked behind a house with all the lights off, Bilbo pauses, not sure if he wants to be caught squirming under it around a witness. 

Thorin simply climbs over the fence, rather easily given how large and heavy he is. Then he reaches back over to pluck Bilbo up and drag Bilbo right over, and Bilbo squeaks and blushes but happily resumes the lead. He makes sure to take Thorin’s hand, a little to make sure Thorin doesn’t get lost and mostly for his own comfort. They wander up the stout hill to Bag End, in through the gate, and past the round, green door, which Bilbo shuts tightly behind them before peering out the window. 

When he turns back to Thorin, Thorin’s eyeing the furniture, the wooden walls and hanging light fixture. Bilbo’s left the hall light on, and the stars through the windows do the rest. 

Thorin mutters, “Impressive little home, you have here...” Bilbo blushes, then hurries over to fuss Thorin out of his boots. 

The boots have to be left by the front door, and they hang Thorin’s armour up on a peg and lay his sword along a wooden bench. The rest they save for the bedroom, which Bilbo quickly leads Thorin to, practically hopping with giddiness on the way. It’s like something out of his childhood fantasies, only now with an adult twist. When he reaches the bedroom, he stands in the middle to let Thorin look around at the big, comfy bed, the sheer curtains over the window, and all the shelves of books and maps. There’s a desk in the corner with an open sheet half written out, and Thorin takes a step towards it to ask, “What are you writing?”

“A story,” Bilbo chirps, then hesitates before adding, “about traveling to far away places, to a big mountain with a... with a handsome king.” Then he turns even redder and buries his face in his hands, because his fantasy isn’t nearly so invented as it should be. 

Thorin lets out a deep chuckle, the sort that leaves Bilbo quivering for more. He lowers his fingers from his eyes when he feels Thorin’s warmth right over him, looking up to find Thorin smiling fondly at him. “You are full of surprises, my little bunny,” Thorin purrs, and Bilbo mewls in response and arches up, wanting to clutch to Thorin tight. 

Thorin does it for him. Thorin picks Bilbo up easily, like he weighs nothing at all, two huge hands on his hips that he used to think were fat but seem so very _small_ next to Thorin’s body. He curls up his own legs so Thorin can deposit him on the bed, and then Thorin pecks his forehead and starts popping loose the buttons of his waistcoat. 

Bilbo lets himself be stripped with the usual brimming anticipation. Thorin pulls his shirt right over his head, leaving him bare to the cold air. He clamps his hands over his nipples on instinct—it’s very vulgar for a hobbit to show those off. Thorin pushes Bilbo’s belly, until Bilbo falls onto his back, his legs in the air, and then Thorin pulls away his trousers and underwear in one fluid motion. 

Bilbo squirms his thighs and shifts his arms, trying to cover himself up even though he _wants_ Thorin to see it all, and then his _urges_ take over, and he rolls onto his stomach. Bilbo lifts his ass in the air, his little pom-pom tail perked, and he spreads his thighs and wiggles his rear: presenting himself to a mate. Thorin makes a hungry growling noise, like he always does when Bilbo gives into base desires. Keeping his shoulders pinned to the mattress, Bilbo looks back to watch Thorin unfasten his own belt, tunic, and trousers. He pushes everything away and leaves it in a heap on the floor, standing before Bilbo with all his flushed skin and dark smatterings of hair, hard muscles and soft fat. Bilbo’s body starts trembling with _want_ , and he mewls and wriggles his thighs together. 

Thorin chuckles and swats at his ass. When Thorin climbs onto the bed, it’s beside Bilbo, instead of mounting him like he wants, and Bilbo’s ears wilt against his curly hair. Thorin sits against the headboard and pats Bilbo’s arm, until Bilbo obediently sits up and shuffles into Thorin’s lap. 

That’s good, too. He likes it when Thorin touches him, fondles him and plays with him, and for a while, Bilbo just lets Thorin lick long, wet trails up his cheeks and bury into his hair to sniff at him. It’s especially nice when Thorin wraps his strong arms all around Bilbo’s middle, and Bilbo feels so perfectly secure. It’s times like this where he thinks hobbits have been cut off from the world too long, because surely they wouldn’t be so terrified of dwarves if they’d ever actually been cuddled by one. 

Thorin is very sweet like this. He snuggles Bilbo and kisses Bilbo, little pecks here and there that make Bilbo giggle. When he’s turned around to face Thorin, and his thighs are spread around Thorin’s body, his small cock nudges up against Thorin’s long cock, thick and flushed pink. The crown that peeks through the foreskin is already slightly slick with precum, and it makes Bilbo licks his lips to look down at it—he always likes lapping at Thorin’s cock. Instead, he rocks his own against it, hands resting on Thorin’s shoulders while he gasps at his own ministrations. He waited too long coming here, and he doesn’t think he could last through licking and sucking, not if he wants to be filled too, and he very much wants to be bred. He pulls back a little and opens his mouth instead, because he’s too embarrassed to say it.

Thorin doesn’t have to be told. Thorin’s very smart, just like he’s very brave and very just. He understands immediately and sticks two fingers into Bilbo’s mouth, weighing down his tongue and shoving lightly back and forth, brushing to the back of his throat. Bilbo suckles on Thorin’s fingers with a stifled moan, until they’re sopping wet. 

Then Thorin pulls them back and reaches around for Bilbo’s rear, while Bilbo lifts up on his knees and bites his lip, willing his body to relax. He’s very good at this, even though he didn’t used to be. Now, he takes Thorin very often, and sometimes he touches himself in between, and he feels so very comfortable with Thorin that it’s easy to grow loose and ready. Thorin rubs one finger over his puckered asshole, grinding in between his cheeks, until it opens enough to take Thorin’s finger. It’s a bit odd, always is, but it doesn’t hurt, or maybe Bilbo’s just grown accustomed to liking these sensation. He sits as still as he can while Thorin works deeper and deeper, before rolling around a bit and adding a second finger.

“Are you getting nice and loose for me, little one?” Thorin asks, his voice warm. Bilbo nods, shifting again and wincing as it jerks Thorin’s fingers inside him, but then he’s forcing himself to breathe, and it’s okay again. Thorin pecks his nose and murmurs, “That’s my good Bilbo.” Bilbo mewls happily and drops his head to nuzzle into Thorin’s neck. 

Soon, Thorin’s stretched Bilbo enough. His fingers retreat, and he clutches Bilbo’s hips, lifting them enough to hover over his cock. Bilbo used to hear nasty rumours about Dwarven cocks—that they were _huge_ and maybe ribbed, or lined with little spikes, or with a big fat bulb at the bottom that would well up inside a mate to prevent escape. But Thorin’s cock is still something Bilbo can take, and he finds it quite pretty to look at. 

Then Thorin pulls Bilbo down, and it shoots up inside Bilbo and out of sight. Bilbo gasps at the quick intrusion, and the sudden brunt of it, and it takes a second to get over that shock, but then it feels very _good_ , because Thorin squirms around and only goes a bit at a time, rubbing at different parts of Bilbo’s walls. A few different, shallow thrusts at different angles, and then Thorin’s all the way inside at just the right place, and the next thrust jabs something that makes Bilbo whine loudly and flush over with heat. 

He knots his fingers in Thorin’s long hair, and Thorin clutches at his waist and palms his tail. It feels wondrous to be full of Thorin Oakenshield again, and it only gets better when Thorin starts to move. Bilbo moves too, the way that he finds he enjoys most—when they’re in this position, at least, and dwarves have so many interesting positions. He lifts up with his thighs and rocks himself into Thorin’s lap, brushing along that certain spot and mewling each time. Thorin bucks up to hump him, and Bilbo bounces, letting himself be impaled while his greedy rear tries to swallow Thorin up. The air fills quickly with lewd slapping sounds, skin-on-skin, already permeated with the stench of Thorin’s sweat and the musk of sex and a bit of Bilbo’s earlier cologne. The more he bounces, the harder he gets, his own cock bobbing between them, and soon he’s making all sorts of embarrassing noises. Thorin mostly growls, sounding absolutely feral, but more protective than aggressive, fierce but loving. Thorin strokes Bilbo’s skin like he’s never treasured anything more, and Bilbo trembles in response and bliss. 

It goes on for quite awhile, during which neither of them touch Bilbo’s cock, because Bilbo comes too easily. When Bilbo tugs at Thorin’s hair too hard, Thorin will roar at him, but when he pets through it just right, Thorin will break into a purr. He kisses Thorin often, at first on the cheek, then the nose, then the mouth, and then he’s nuzzling tight against Thorin’s face, his little tongue being stroked and sucked under Thorin’s. He can feel the dulled tips of Thorin’s fangs, and he enjoys the light scratch of Thorin’s beard. Making love with Thorin is always so amazing that Bilbo can hardly stand it. 

Then, when their mouths are locked together and Bilbo has one of Thorin’s braids in each hand, Thorin grabs his waist and knocks him over. They topple against the mattress, Bilbo’s legs thrown into the air and spread around Thorin’s hips. Thorin kneels over him on hands and knees, kissing him profusely all over his face while he splutters in surprise. But this is why he wanted to come to Bag End. The mattress is nice and soft and cushions Bilbo while Thorin’s rowdy lust switches positions, his cock still firmly embedded in Bilbo’s insides. Bilbo holds onto Thorin’s shoulders, and Thorin resumes taking him, in quick, rhythmic thrusts that make Bilbo dissolve right back into ecstasy. It’s so very easy to loose track of everything else when he has Thorin inside him. Thorin makes the bed rattle, the frame creak. Bilbo rides it out, so breathless that he can’t close his mouth, even when a little bit of drool starts to trickle out of the corner. Thorin notices and dips in to lick it away, but in truth, Thorin only makes the mess worse, lapping eagerly over Bilbo’s chin. Before long, Bilbo’s a whimpering, squirming wreck, and yet Thorin only grinds harder into him, dragging their chests together. 

It’s when Thorin ducks down to lick at Bilbo’s nipple that Bilbo finally loses it. He cries out and arches off the bed, spurting between them as his orgasm washes over him. He sees stars behind his eyes and tosses his head back, moaning and whimpering and groaning all at once, and Thorin keeps pounding into him through it, until he’s slumping into a satiated heap. 

Thorin finishes a few thrusts later with a heady growl, grinding Bilbo’s hips deep into the bed and filling him up with hot, sticky seed. Bilbo can’t help but wrap his arms around Thorin’s shoulders and enjoy every last drop. He knows that it serves a dual purpose, and that it will make him smell like _Thorin_ , so if Bilbo runs into any other dwarves for the next few days, they’ll know who Bilbo belongs to. As Thorin shudders to a halt, Bilbo nips at his neck, wanting to leave just a little bit of a mark, so other hobbits will know who Thorin belongs to. 

Thorin indulgently lets himself be bitten, until there’s a little pink ring around his throat and Bilbo’s satisfied. Bilbo licks over it once, a little sorry for the bruised skin, then stretches out again and nuzzles into Thorin’s chest. 

Thorin slips out of him. It trails some seed and leaves Bilbo feeling too empty and leaking. He clamps his thighs together to hold onto what he can, while Thorin kisses his cheek and purrs, “ _My Bilbo_ , how cute you look when you’ve finished riding me.” 

Bilbo shoots back a murmured, “You’re sexy,” and kisses Thorin’s nose. Not exactly eloquent, but the sex has left him dizzy, and that’s all he can do. Thorin grins and scoops him up by the waist. 

Thorin turns him around, so that they can lie in the pillows, and then Thorin pushes Bilbo to roll over and tugs Bilbo closer, latching onto Bilbo’s back so they can spoon in peace. The aftermath is one of Bilbo’s favourite parts. Thorin feels like he’s on fire, and when Bilbo squirms against him, Bilbo can feel _everything_. Thorin’s thick arms wrap securely around him again, and Bilbo holds on with a too-big smile. 

He asks over his shoulder, feeling woozy and spent but giddy enough to try, “Can I take you next time?”

“You can take anything you like,” Thorin insists, kissing his shoulder. “I can even teach you how to growl.”

Bilbo opens his mouth wide and hisses, “Rawr!” But it comes out rather pathetic and only serves to make him giggle. Thorin chuckles behind him, and Bilbo means to try again but yawns instead. 

So Bilbo just happily settles into sleep, wondering what sort of breakfast he should cook his wolf in the mourning.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [these gorgeous pictures](http://nastyrutobuka.tumblr.com/post/114448709445/this-is-kinda-naked-i-hope-its-ok-i-didnt-cut)


End file.
